


in the fog

by akadiene



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Limbo, Mentions of Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6532903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akadiene/pseuds/akadiene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius doesn't know her name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the fog

_(for the oft suffering)_

* * *

 

Sirius doesn't know her name, or where she's from. He doesn't know why she's here with him, in this strange, mist-covered ever-changing limbo. She never tells, and he never asks. Sometimes he wants know her story, her past, her everything, so badly it hurts. He won't ask, though, because he feels as if he shouldn't know, and maybe she wouldn't be able to answer his questions, anyway.

The mysteriousness is part of her beauty, he thinks. Some days (they aren't really days, Sirius knows this, but he feels the need to keep track of the time somehow), she wakes up as a young child, doe-eyed and almost infant-like in her giggles and wonder. They play games then, hide-and-seek and I Spy and hopscotch on the lines that appear on the ground (well, maybe they do -- Sirius hasn't decided whether or not his imagination has anything to do with them). Sometimes she is older, a teenager; beautiful in her awkwardness, eyes too big for her face. Other times, she is his age, in her twenties (that's when Sirius likes her the most; graceful and willowy and soft) and some days she is much older. It's different, then, because she is blurry and faded, like an old photograph that hasn't developed properly, or a reflection in a rippling black lake.

Sometimes, she wanders, and she looks like that too, from far away. The mist is cool on his skin and his heart beats hot in his chest as his eyes seek out her figure.

He doesn't understand her, nor does he pretend to. She can be sweet and happy at times, or angry and swearing and blazing. He doesn't understand when she kisses him, rough and wanton, only to soften moments later, caressing him like the sea does to the sky on a warm summer's day. He doesn't complain, though, because tomorrow she might come to him a four-year-old and he won't know when she'll return to him as an adult.

Really, Sirius doesn't know who he himself is. He knows his name, that's all. He never says it aloud, though, and she never presses him for it. Really, they speak little. For that, he is grateful. He despises his name, and he doesn't even know why. To him, the words Sirius Orion Black are _ugly_ , sharp as glass and dirty as mud, and he doesn't want to reveal them. They are wrong. They don't belong to him. It's not something he could ever explain, so he hides it in the white, rolling fog.

Sometimes, he forgets his name altogether, when she looks at him with her blue Kedavra eyes and her fiery touch burns his skin so hot he thinks it might leave soot in its wake.

He doesn't count the days pass, but he knows that many have come and gone when something arrives to disrupt their oblivion. She is eleven that day, he's asked, and she is vulnerable and innocent. She cries out when they find a man, an adolescent, lying limp and face-down on the ground, and she hides behind Sirius when the stranger awakes. Sirius tries to comfort her, but he can't stop her nervous trembling.

The stranger is auburn-haired and handsome, and when he turns to face Sirius and the girl, Sirius meets his eyes, he notices that they are precisely the same shade of pale blue as his sometimes-lover's. He gasps, without quite knowing why. He feels as though this boy can look into his soul, see every kiss, hear every moan, feel every touch. Sirius shivers involuntarily, and the girl comes out from behind him, looking up with doleful, wet eyes.

"Oh." A murmur, from the boy. Barely breathing, Sirius waits for him to say something else. Finally, after hours or centuries or seconds (one can never be sure in an eternity such as this), he does.

"Ariana," he says, and she smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Hey Rosetta!. The song doesn't quite match the mood but the lyrics are beautiful as all of their songs are. I wrote this more than five years ago, but re-edited to post it here.


End file.
